You Shall Be Blessed
by Tarklovishki
Summary: Croatoan AU. When the war against Croatoan is won, Castiel is the only survivor. There he is confronted by God, who sees fit to give him a second chance. From there, he and Dean must figure out how to survive in a world no longer plagued with death, and learn how to live with each other. Dean/Castiel.
1. Prologue

**Title;** You Shall Be Blessed.

**Author;** Tarklovishki

**Rating;** M

**Warnings;** Mentions of past murder and torture. Drug and alcohol addiction. Major character death (before prologue begins).

**Spoilers;** Season five's "The End."

**Summary**; When the war against Croatoan is won, Castiel is the only survivor. There he is confronted by God, who sees fit to give him a second chance. From there, he and Dean must figure out how to survive in a world no longer plagued with death, and learn how to live with each other.

**Authors Notes; **Updates should come every week. This prologue is a little rushed, but there was no other way I could have written it, and somehow it just feels right. Enjoy!

**You Shall Be Blessed**

Prologue

Castiel lay on his back, staring up at the cloudless blue sky, numb. He couldn't remember how to move his body. All around him lay the dead from the battle, corpses strewn around in various positions. Castiel was the only survivor. Dean's body lay among them.

He didn't know what to think or what to feel. This feeling inside of him, this emptiness, was different from when he'd been an angel. It was difficult for him to describe, not that he could have even if he wanted to.

Lucifer had been killed, but in doing so he'd taken everything Castiel knew. Everything Castiel loved.

Dean included.

How does someone recover from that? Castiel had no clue. When they were struggling to survive, trying to rid the world of the Croatoan virus, at least he had Dean. Now, he didn't even have that.

People who hadn't been fighting in this war, people who had been under the effect of the Croatoan virus would no doubt be waking up, back to their normal human selves. Well good for them. They could find a way to deal with the fact that they've been murdering their way through U.S.A. Humans were nothing if not crafty in their coping mechanisms.

But Castiel had not been born a human. He had not been raised a human. He had been an angel who had existed knowing that there were casualties in war … He'd never had a reason to mourn until now. Castiel figured he should find Dean's body and burn it before it rotted, yet he could not pick himself up off the ground. His brain sent signals to his body and they were ignored, because for all intents and purposes, his body was dead too.

"Castiel."

Castiel knew that voice. It came from somewhere over his head. Numbly, he arched his neck back, ignoring the screaming protest of his muscles.

"Chuck?" he asked, his hoarse voice barely making any sound at all, for his throat was very dry and a lump had formed in the middle of it. "Chuck, you survived?"

"I'm not Chuck, Castiel." Chuck knelt down next to Castiel. Sadness leaked out of every pore, through every cut to his cheek, through all the grime and blood that caked his face and clothes.

"What are you … talking about?"

"I wish it hadn't happened like this, Castiel," said Chuck, or not-Chuck. There was something different about him. He was not stuttering his words, not nervous. "But some things are just set in stone. You can't change them, no matter what path you take."

"If you're not Chuck, then … who are you?"

Not-Chuck's lips curved into a world-weary smile. "I think deep down, you already know the answer to that. You just don't want to accept it."

Castiel let those words play around in his mind for a minute. Then he gasped in a breath that seared his chest. He tried to push himself up but he couldn't.

"... God?" he asked, scared to believe it true.

Chuck—God—nodded. "Yes, Castiel."

"You've—you've been here the entire time?"

"I couldn't interfere with fate, but yes, I was here. Watching out for you."

"What about Dean? You weren't watching out for him; he's dead."

"It had to happen."

Castiel licked his dry, cracked lips. Tears were pooling into his eyes. "Why didn't you give us a sign that you were here? Why did you let this happen to us?" he asked. "If you truly loved us—the angels, humanity—you wouldn't have let us fall this far. Wouldn't have let _Dean_ fall this far."

"You've been through a lot, my child," said God. He drew his fingers down the grime of Castiel's cheek. "You're not listening to what I'm saying, for you are grief-stricken, and that's understandable. You know how fragile and fluid time is; if I had stepped in and stopped everything, I would have ruined the balance. Chaos would ensue. All these centuries have been leading to this. But what happens after this can be changed."

"What are you going to do to the angels?" Castiel asked.

"Nothing they didn't have coming already," said God. "Despite all this being 'meant to be' they still made some poor decisions. I think it's about time they went to sit in the naughty corner, don't you?"

"... What about Dean?"

"I think Fate won't mind if I … return him to where he belongs," said God, pinching his chin between index finger and thumb, humming thoughtfully. "Just don't lose him this time."

"Sam, too?"

"No. After what Sam has been through, I think it's time he took his place in Heaven and rested for eternity, don't you?" God said. "And when it comes time for you and Dean to leave this world, you can both join him … as humans."

God rested his hand against Castiel's chest, fixing broken bones, sewing up torn flesh … mending Castiel back together.

"Don't waste this gift I've given you," said God, standing up.

Castiel grunted as he, too, got to his feet unsteadily. "I won't."

With a smile, God vanished. Immediately, Dean was in his place.

For a second, Castiel was dumbstruck. His heart started hammering in his throat as he watched Dean stammer and stumble, dazed and confused, trying to figure out what had happened.

"Cas?" he finally asked. "Cas, is that you? Is this Heaven?"

A wet sob burst free of Castiel. He launched himself forward, throwing his arms around Dean's neck.

"No, Dean," he said, laughing into Dean's shoulder. "This isn't Heaven."

But for now, it was close enough.

**To Be Continued. . .**


	2. Lawrence, Kansas

Chapter 1

**Lawrence, Kansas.**

It had taken them weeks to get to Lawrence from Chitaqua.

There were only a few buses that ran near Lawrence. People were trying their hardest for normalcy, to forget that Croatoan had even happened. Castiel knew, despite the cheeriness of the people that he and Dean had come across, Croatoan was never far out of their minds.

He spent most of his time sleeping, too. When the end had been near, he'd cut back on a lot of sleep, and now was his chance to catch up on it. Often than not, he found himself waking up with his head on Dean's shoulder, a small dribble of spit drying on his chin. Dean never seemed to mind it.

Dean had taken the news that God wouldn't be resurrecting Sam as well as one could hope. Castiel could tell that he was glad that Sam had the chance to rest, but a layer of depression had dropped over him, making him world-weary and tired all the time, no matter how much rest he'd managed to have. A lot of the time, he would wake up screaming from nightmares, burying his face into Castiel's neck as if to hide from the problems he tried to push aside in his lucid, waking moments.

Even though Castiel knew Dean wasn't that stupid—sometimes—he still kept a close eye on him, scared that one day Dean would just give up, deciding he'd had enough, and do something stupid to off himself. Castiel couldn't lose this opportunity to make things right between himself and Dean.

They were delayed so long from getting to Lawrence because they kept giving their spots on a bus to other people who were in worse positions than them. People who were on their own with no family, no way of contacting them since nearly all forms of contact had been destroyed, and just had to get home quickly because they needed to see if their loved ones were still alive.

On the bus, Dean fell asleep practically as soon as they found a seat. His head bounced off the grime-stained glass, startling him awake for only seconds before he twisted around and rested his head on Castiel's shoulder, giving him a mumbled order to wake him up a couple of stops before their own.

The whole trip Castiel watched the world go by their window, his fingers idly carding through Dean's hair. He knew enough of humanity that this open show of affection between two men would have garnered them some disgusted looks a few years ago. Now everyone had been put through their own personal hell, making them a little wiser, allowing everyone to realise that homosexuality wasn't a sin at all. There were worse things to go to hell for.

Some people glanced at them and smiled. The weight of sadness might not have lifted in a way that would make a difference, but Castiel knew that they were glad that there was still love out in the world. That Lucifer hadn't managed to strip the basic yet potent ingredient from humanity before he died.

He saw bruises in the form of bite marks on exposed skin of some of the people on the bus. It stirred that ingrained instinct to shoot them dead. Castiel was starting to forgive them for what they must have done whilst under the curse of Croatoan. He knew that what they did wasn't their fault, because Croatoan had been invented to strip a person from their sanity, lock it away and feed blood-lust and mindless carnage into the victim. Still. He'd lost friends to the Croats.

Castiel wondered if those bite marks would be permanent; a constant reminder of the havoc they had wreaked on Earth. He wondered how many people wouldn't be able to take said reminder; taking their own lives as giving their penance. How wondered how many people could take that in their stride.

Even before they got two stops away from Lawrence, Dean began to stir awake. Castiel looked down at him. They were about a half hour out from Dean's hometown. Should he try and lull Dean back to sleep, or allow him to wake up and face the world again?

"Cas?" The roughness of Dean's voice from sleep surprised Castiel.

"I'm here, Dean," he replied soothingly. "We're almost to Lawrence."

"Hmm." Dean sat up straight, his eyes still unfocused. He scratched at the top of his head, before rumpling up his hair. He stretched as much as the chair would allow him to. Relaxing back into the chair, he sighed. "Wonder how everyone's going to pick up and keep going from this. I mean, the hospitals have been raided and destroyed, supermarkets too. People are going to be looking for houses to stay in—wonder if they're still going to have to pay for it."

"Humanity is nothing if not inventive in the ways of dealing with trauma," said Castiel. "I would not be all that worried if I were you."

Except he, himself, was worried.

The girl in the seat across the aisle from them had no doubt overheard their conversation. She shifted nervously in her seat, her hand coming up to her mouth so she could bite on her nails. They had worried her. Maybe she was one of the many who had lost homes and families, who had no idea where to start next. Castiel wanted to apologise for alarming her, yet he and Dean had spoken the truth.

When their stop came up, Dean made a tiny gesture with his hand for Castiel to get up. Having sat for so long without standing up or stretching, standing to full height all of a sudden had him wincing in pain and bending forward, grasping the nearest pole as the bus came to a slow stop.

As soon as they were off the bus, deciding against walking into the crumbling bus shelter, watching as the large vehicle stirred dust clouds in its wake, Castiel realised that he had no idea where to go from here. He turned to ask Dean, only to find a lost expression on his face.

It seemed so much like them to make all these big plans to go somewhere and not know what to do once they actually arrived. They loitered around the shelter for all of five minutes, until Dean swore under his breath and started walking. His shoulder collided with Castiel's as he stomped past. Castiel, used to such treatment, didn't get angry and followed him.

"Where are we going?" It took a whole minute to work up the courage to ask that question, for Castiel didn't want to spoil this—well, this calmness between them, for a lack of a proper word. They hadn't been this close for two whole years. The thought caused guilt and sadness to shoot through him. Why did it have to be like this?

For a second, it didn't seem like Dean was going to answer him.

Then, Dean licked his lips and said, "I know a woman named Missouri. Just wanna know if she's y'know, still alive and all."

Castiel recognised the name, though not through any dealings with her face-to-face; he once saw her hidden away in Dean's memories when he'd been an angel, putting Dean back together.

From the bus shelter, the walk took well over an hour. By the time they got to the inner part of Lawrence, Castiel's shirt stuck to his back with sweat. His legs ached. Yet Castiel knew better than to complain about it; the war against Lucifer might be over, but inside Dean there was still that edge of 'fearless leader' who wouldn't think twice about telling Castiel to shut the hole in his face.

Yeah, Dean and Castiel had a lot of issues to work out.

Lawrence had fallen into a kind of disrepair. A few houses were nothing more than crumbling remains. Whether torn down by fierce storms or fires couldn't be clearly discerned. Passing by an intact house, Castiel saw that the owners were agreeing to let a young couple and their two year old son stay with them for however long they needed to.

It warmed Castiel's heart to see an open display of generosity.

Reaching Missouri's house, they found her waiting for them on her front doorstep. Her house was intact, though it was charred in places and the wood of her porch had broken, scattering splinters across the dying grass. Compared to the rest of Lawrence, it was fine.

As soon as she laid eyes on them, she started running toward them, embracing Dean in a strong hug, and then Castiel. Tears ran freely down her cheeks.

"I'm so glad to see you boys," she said.

"You knew we were coming?" Dean asked, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

Missouri chuckled, nodding. She mopped at her eyes. "Did you forget that I am a psychic, boy? You boys are exhausted. Get in the house and get some sleep." She pointed a finger at Dean. "Yes, you will be staying with me for a while. Don't you dare argue."

Castiel passed by the two of them. At the invitation of a bed to sleep in, he knew it would be stupid to refuse it, or wait any longer. He felt like he could sleep for a hundred years. After a few seconds, he could hear the grass crunch underfoot, signalling that Dean and Missouri now followed after him.

Once inside, Castiel realised he'd been rude just walking off like that and stopped. He took in the state of the house. The place exuded warmth and cosiness. A place to stop and rest in a world that was crumbling down around them all. A haven. He immediately felt at peace.

"Go ahead and make yourself comfortable," said Missouri. "Lord knows that we haven't been able to do that for a long time."

She tossed her hand in the direction of her old, weathered couch. Castiel sunk down into it and felt the springs inside it groan. Castiel was visited by the urge to just fall asleep right there and not wake up for days. He figured Missouri might let him do just that.

The look Missouri fixed him told him she agreed with that.

"So, what has been happening for you two lately?" she said, sitting down in the armchair across the dining table. Folding her hands on her lap, the look in her eyes said she knew exactly what had happened between them.

"Oh, you know," said Dean. Castiel recognised the tone for what it was; a defence mechanism, a way to try and toss aside the pain and the guilt that Castiel knew clawed at him from the inside out, trying to shut it all away and not deal with it, because Dean wasn't emotionally capable of handling these sorts of things. "The usual."

"Don't you try and brush me off, boy, or I'll make good on my threat to whack you with a spoon," Missouri said sharply, pointing her finger warningly at Dean who had the grace to look ashamed of himself. "I just want to make polite conversation."

"Polite conversation?" All traces of shame was wiped clean from Dean's face. He was angry. "The world is screwed to hell, there's dead and homeless people all over the place, people who are trying to get over the loss of their families, and we're here making polite conversation?"

"Dean …"

Castiel leaned forward, resting his hand against Dean's arm to try and calm him down. Only Dean wrenched himself away. The walls that he had built around himself to keep Castiel out had been constructed again. Castiel tried to stomach the pain that brought him, that made him physically sick.

"Boy, don't you take that tone with me." Missouri had to restrain the urge to yell at Dean. Yelling at him never got anyone anywhere. Castiel knew that better than most. "Don't you act as if I can't see how much the world is hurting. You ain't the only one who knows what it feels like to lose loved ones."

"Not many people are the reason for the death of their loved ones," said Dean moodily.

Castiel winced; they had broached the topic of Sam.

The look in Missouri's eyes softened. "Oh, Dean," she said compassionately. "I understand this might not be what you want to hear right now, but … but you did the right thing."

"I murdered my brother."

"No you didn't," said Castiel, surprised at himself for his interjection. He gulped as two sets of eyes swivelled around to stare at him. "Lucifer rode Sam for years. With all likelihood, Lucifer burned Sam out ages ago. Lucifer hates humanity; as soon as he had Sam, he'd have started to kill him already."

He watched as Dean gulped audibly, his eyes wet from unshed tears. Castiel had no idea whether he'd just hurt or helped with that statement. All he knew was that it needed to be said.

"I don't want to have this conversation any more," said Dean roughly, balling up his fists. He turned away from Castiel to ask Missouri, "Can I go to sleep now?"

"Third door on the left in the hallway just over there," said Missouri quietly.

She barely had the chance to finish before Dean was up and out of the room in a flash.

As soon as Dean was gone, Castiel allowed the tension in his bones to seep out. He buried his face in his hands and groaned. There was so much to fix between them that he didn't even know where to start. How do you help someone with so much emotional baggage who can't even see themselves the roots of their own pain?

Castiel knew he was no better off; the beginnings of a craving started to set in on him. If he didn't have any drugs soon, he'd start to go into withdrawal and those were never fun. He knew he had to fix himself so that he could be there for Dean, he just didn't know how.

That was the problem, he surmised. Castiel had been human for years but he had forced the issue aside, decided not to deal with it, choosing the easy options instead of toughing out the hard ones. He'd held his own hand and walked himself up to the door of the room that held his own baggage.

"You both can stay here however long you need to," said Missouri quietly. There were tear tracks on her face. and it was then that he realised that she could hear everything he was thinking. "Dean needs you more than you might think, honey. He's too blind to see it."

"Thank you." Castiel sniffled, standing up. "I should probably go and check on him."

Missouri nodded her head, mopping at her cheeks. "Go on, go on. Lord knows that boy might do something stupid, what with that mindset of his. Just go be there with him; he'll appreciate it."

Dean lay face-down on the double bed when Castiel walked in there. His eyes were closed. Castiel knew that he was still awake. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to Dean, putting a hand to the small of his back. He pretended not to notice the way Dean tensed up, even as a flash of agony shot through his heart.

"I know that you want to go on pretending like everything is fine with you," said Castiel, talking past a lump in his throat that felt as if it were slowly suffocating him. "That's okay. I mean, nobody can make the stubborn Dean Winchester talk when he doesn't want to. But, Dean, please don't push me away. Or Missouri away. We want to help you. Heck, Dean, I need help. I'm all fucked up. I'm a drug addict. If you push me away now … well, I'm just scared of what I'll do then.

"I just … We were given a second chance. You, us, the world. I don't want to ruin it. I'm not afraid to tell you that all this terrifies me. I don't have a sense of purpose for the first time in my existence. You of all people should know what that's like. It's enough to make me want to start using again but I know that I can't because this is not what God had in mind when he gave you back to me.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is … I don't want to let this gap that's formed between us push us completely apart. You're all I have left in the world, Dean, and I can't lose you."

A moment of heavy silence passed between them.

"So … are you done?" Dean asked nonchalantly.

Another section of Castiel's heart seemed to shatter. Tears sprang to his eyes.

"Yeah," he said, "yeah, I'm done."

**To Be Continued. . .**


End file.
